


What Makes a Person

by otaka101



Series: Spiral of the Wastelands [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: :(, But also, Kasta didn't agree with this, Mass Murder, Vulpes Inculta basically chose the courier, also i feel the need to add this, and BOY things were very different when I just played it normally, and kasta can't consent when they're being owned as property, bc I actually was playing through with kasta originally on xbox 360 on survival normal mode, bc of how differently everything kept turning out when i kept playing, but vulpes/courier is non-con, courier has a child, in all au's, in all timelines, it's one-sided on vulpes side, kasta wants nothing to do with him, kasta would much rather pour gas on him and torch him with an incinerator, luckily not everyone died in the fight against the legion, not only in how things were handled, not sure about any part of their past, now their just kinda, of an group, one version where they keep their memories but on normal mode, or at least they were when they still remembered anything before, or have any say in it, that tag is only there because it's one sided, the courier doesn't have the best life before or after goodsprings, the four versions of kasta are basically the way I played the game, the second version where they keep their memories but on survival, the third is normal without and the fourth is without but on survival, therefore its rape, they don't get to consent in a slave/master relationship, they don't have any attraction and never will, they don't keep the kid tho, they're agender btw, this is basically me making the backstory and in-game story for my courier, tribal!courier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 18:25:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10169108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otaka101/pseuds/otaka101
Summary: As Kasta goes about their business, they are held accountable to their actions and old scores are settled, whether they know about any of them or not. A story of Kasta, in multiple realities, that spans the before, the during, and after game.





	1. Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> This is apart of Kasta's backstory and it's well before they meet up with Benny in Goodsprings. This is going to be done in non-chronological order as I'm doing this as things go along. Everything before the games are all considered survival mode and things don't change from backstory to backstory, things only change AFTER Benny puts two in their head. Also, this chapter doesn't have really graphic rape in it, but it is heavily implied as it child abandonment.  
> So, with that, enjoy!

               They long since learned to stop fighting when he came, or at least not to fight as hard as they used to. Vulpes Inculta seemed to feed on their energy, take to it and get revitalized at the sight of their rage and defiance. It didn’t take long for Kasta to realize that trying to attack Vulpes after some dangerous situation or what should’ve been a long hard day wouldn’t do them any good. He’d just get excited by it, or the closest to it, as Kasta firmly believed that such evil trapped in the form of a human didn’t really feel human emotions, just preyed on them. Tried to make people tick so he could get the loudest reaction out of them as possible.

               Kasta would come at him, sometimes they would even get the element of surprise on their side when they did and sure, sometimes he did get angry, sometimes he did beat them to what felt like an inch within their death. But Kasta would take that any day over when he would get eager and excited. He’d tie them down, make sure they couldn’t move too far. Kasta had long since stopped feeling ashamed over their quick defeats. While they had been a proud warrior once, they knew they needed stealth, an advantage, anything to get them on the upper hand. Because when they didn’t, they were at his mercy. Bound, terrified, defeated, they always knew what was going to come next after getting tied down.

               Vulpes would close the curtain to his tent, a sign he didn’t want to be disturbed. He’d strip himself then get as much off of them as he could without tearing the restraints. Sometimes he wouldn’t even bother with that, just cutting through the rags that could barely pass as clothes that they gave them, and just do as he pleased. There wasn’t any shrinking away from it for Kasta anymore, their belly large and eyes dry as Vulpes heaved over them, nothing gentle or loving or kind about his treatment. But then again, it was rape, so could they really have expected any of that? He hadn’t gone in too early this time, but that never had stopped him anyway, he’d just keep thrusting until they’d bled enough for him to really enjoy himself. After he finished, he just lay on top of them for a while breathing hard, before getting off of them and pulling the covers onto his body and falling asleep.

               They were due to have the child within a few weeks but then what? Would they be kept as his personal baby maker until they died? Would he just keep them around until he got tired and killed them? Kasta wanted nothing to do with the child, and when they did finally give birth, they didn’t spare a glance at the newborn child being carried off. At least the one good thing about this was that they’d never have to see the child again, they’d never have to see if Vulpes’ face and chin ended up on the baby or if they got their eyes. They would live out as a soldier for Caesar Legion and one day die for Caesar’s Legion, blindly worshipping the man and Vulpes’, whether the baby knew it was his father or not.

               Kasta ignored the water streaming from their eyes and running down their face. It was better this way. Kasta would never be reminded, they’d never have to relive their torture over and over again once they finally managed to escape and any child of Vulpes’ was no child of theirs. The tears running down their face meant nothing. And soon, they’d never have to think about the baby again, as they managed to escape a few months later, empty handed and without a second glance.


	2. They Didn't Fear Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They didn't fear death. After all, what could be worse than losing your life and failing the people who depended on them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is waaay before they get picked by Vulpes and the first chapter. This is actually the lead up to it so it's necessary to post it. This is pre-game and because of this, Kasta hasn't diverged into four different paths yet, their just Kasta at the moment.

               Kasta was one of the scouts, and regardless of whether or not they wanted to leave the fight, they had to warn the others. As they ran off to the rest of the tribe, the dying screams of their friends ringing in their ears, just barely avoiding pursuit, they yelled at the gate, “The Legion! The Legion have come for us!”

               Needless to say, the rest of the tribe started to prepare for the largest fight that Kasta had been around to fight. Regular protocols of hiding the children in the nearby caves were ignored, favoring to hide all the non-combatants in the underground bunker outside the living areas, behind the gates. Any that knew how to fire a gun or hold a spear were tasked with holding the line, they weren’t preparing for this fight like they would any other. After all, tribe Aysel knew they wouldn’t win. No amount of skill would be enough between the fifty-seven fighters that were staring down grimly at the incoming legion army bearing down on them. Nothing would save them from defeat or enslavement, but they could at least buy the other non-combatants, nearly three hundred of them, all making their way through the bunker to the opening on the other side, five miles west from the main encampment, some time. Any time. They needed to slow down the Legion at all and any costs to let them escape to avoid the death of their tribe.

               Kasta stood on top of a battlement, spear in hand, sweat rolling down their back. They could hear the jeers and the pounding of the ground from their feet growing closer and ever closer. They were shaking, terrified, the faces of their other friends getting cut down as they bought just enough time for them to warn the tribe burned onto their eyelids. They took a deep breath and threw their spear into an incoming Legion foot soldier. They didn’t fear death, only failure.

               The battle started quickly, they took down three other foot soldiers before the two groups finally clashed into each other. No amount of spears Kasta had been able to throw would’ve helped. The Legion surged over into the camp, brutally taking out half of the front lines with it. Guns began to fire, but weren’t able to hit as much as Kasta had hoped, and Kasta could only do so much without fear of hitting their own members. They stayed posed, as their aunt died below them, struck through the heart and managed to land a spear in the neck of the man who killed her. Her cousin fell to the ground, eyes wide a Legion over her, his fist raised to beat her down only to fall over one spear lodged into his knee then fell over dead as another spear protruded from his forehead. Kasta’s cousin ran away in terror, watching her sister fall nearby, attacked by three Legion soldiers and a praetorian. Kasta could see their cousin going for the grenades, three other members lay dead at her feet who had had the same idea. Before Kasta could yell out at her to tell her that it was a trap, they felt a blow to their head and air rushing past them as they fell. Then nothing.

 

               When Kasta woke again, they opened their eyes to see the last man get his neck severed from his body. No sounds escaped Kasta, they couldn’t feel their throat to even think about screaming. Their head was fuzzy with pain, fingers numb, and chest heavy with what felt like lead. There wasn’t any sounds that the Legion had found the others, Kasta thought. Please, please, please, Kasta thought, let the legion only find dirt rather than a man hole. Let them think that we’re the only ones.

               After a few hours of the Legion taking all that they wanted, they began to lead all the survivors out of the camp. From the bits and pieces that Kasta heard, they believed that they had been all that there was of tribe Aysel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this all the way to the end! Please leave a comment or leave a kudos if you liked it!


	3. Here's a Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Boone and Kasta sit under the stars, they wonder exactly what they're gonna do once they meet the man with the ugly checkered suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place after Kasta gets shot in the head, on normal mode and they don't know anything about their past. So, since this is Kasta, things always get kinda cracky and ridiculous, but thank goodness there aren't any fourth wall breaks in this particular story.

               “So, Boone.” Kasta, or otherwise known as courier six, or just six, sat down next to Boone with a Nuka-Cola and one for him. “Whatcha doing?”

               This wasn’t the first time they’d done this. It certainly wouldn’t be the last either. He’d thought with Freeside in sight and New Vegas on the horizon, they’d at least stop bugging him while he was trying to set up first watch to something that was going to be their biggest meeting of their life (or at least what little of what they could remember) or at least prepare for their little encounter with Benny coming up soon. But no. They had to stick with bad habits and bother him while he was busy.

               He sighed, resigned to his fate, “…you already know what I’m doing right now, don’t play dumb.”

               They yawned stretched and lay back to back with him, curling up on him. “Yeah, but I mean I asked you what you were doing.”

               He grunted, “Shouldn’t you be doing something that doesn’t concern me? Like taking care of your hair or something? You always take three hours on it anyways, so you might as well get a headstart on it.”

               “Hey,” They replied, sounding genuinely offended, “Dreadlocks aren’t just something that you get done and just don’t take care of. It takes time, effort, and motivation to keep it looking as good and as clean as I do, thanks. Besides,” Kasta sniffed, “What about you? You always spend the time going over every little scratch and tear in that beret anyways. Like, who are you to talk?”

               He bristled, “That beret is a proud symbol that I served in the NCR sniper unit and I’m never going to let it go to waste. And if it means going over it for over three hours every morning, then that’s that I’m going to do.”

               “Exactly,” Kasta bit back, “You understand exactly what’s it like to want to take care of something, so don’t mock me for doing the same.” They picked up the Nuka-Cola they’d brought for him, “In fact just for that, I’m gonna drink this.”

               They popped the cap and went to put it to their lips, but Boone snatched it from their hand and drank half of it in one go, glaring at them. “Pfft,” Kasta scoffed, “I don’t want your nasty germs from your mouth on mine anyways take it.”

               “Not what you were saying earlier,” Boone reminded them, draining the rest and putting it with their bottle. “In fact, you seemed to really eagerly eat up the food with my fork this morning.”

               Kasta relaxed at his back, the tenseness draining out of their back, “I was hungry, Boone. Can’t help it, I gotta deliver stuff.”

               “And you just insist on dragging me along with you everywhere for some reason.”

               “Whatever, you love it anyways. Besides, you’d just be chillin’ in the mouth of a giant dino waving your dick around to any passerbys.”

               “I don’t wave my dick around.”

               Kasta gasped dramatically, “But Boone, what was that dick-measuring contest we had when we met? Was that just something that you do whenever you meet someone new? I feel wounded!”

               “….I asked you to find evidence of someone selling Carla to the Legion.”

               “……Ok. You have a point. Sorry. I was trying to be funny and I took it too far that time.”

               “Yeah. Unluckily for me, I’ve gotten too used to you to know that was actually supposed to cheer me up. So, why don’t you cut to the chase and just say what you really say already. Stop dancing around the topic.”

               “I’m no—”

               “Yeah, you are. Now start talking or we aren’t talking until after Benny is taken care of.”

               “Boone, you’re such a mean person you know that?” Kasta gave a long sigh, “Fine. I guess. I’m just. I don’t know, feeling antsy? After Benny, I don’t know what I’m going to do after that.”

               “Take me to Bitter Springs like I promised?”

               “Obviously, Boone. I might crack on you, maybe a bit too often, but you are my friend and I’ll stick by you to the end.”

               “Good.”

               “That’s so typical of you, Boone. Whatever. But, no, I just mean…Benny is the last thing I have tied to my past. After that, what else do I have? All, I know is that I used to have tattoos and my hair used to look different and longer. I don’t have anything to go off of, y’know? But at the same time.” They rubbed at a spot on their hip hard, “I need to kill this guy. I _really, really, really_ , need him to be dead. But at the same time, what if he knew me? What if he knew who I was beforehand? I mean, then I’ve literally gone and killed off my last leads to whatever and I’ll never know what happened beforehand.”

               Boone looked at them behind his sunglasses, that he never took off ever, and then answered, “Why don’t you just ask him if he knows anything? If he doesn’t you kill him, if he does you get what you need to know and you kill him.”

               “Yeah, Boone, I’m gonna walk up to him, in the strip, where he lives, where there’s probably at least four guys protecting him and just—” Kasta imitated Boone’s low voice to the best of their ability. “'Kill ‘em.'”

               Boone shrugged, “You asked me what you should do. Don’t get mad at me because you don’t like what you hear.”

               “Tch, whatever, Boone.”

               It was quiet again for sometime as the two kept the fire alive, then suddenly, **“I’m gonna fuck Benny!”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading this chapter, I'm glad you enjoyed it! I always appreciate if you guys leave kudos or a comment!


	4. Dossiers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kasta makes a list in their head of all the things that they would have to look out for if they ever fought their other companions and tries to give themself a similar dossier style report.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after both Honest Hearts and Sierra Madre have taken place for Kasta. In this one, it's normal mode without their memories and their just trying to work through it.

               The courier was rarely ever honest with themselves, not about their past, not about their stakes, not about their companions, nothing. And with them not being able to remember anything _(or maybe that’s a lie too, maybe they just want to forget really)_ it leads to them always keeping their innermost thoughts to themselves, hiding them behind a smile, ridiculous flirtation, and distractingly bad language that could either be passed off as a joke or nonsense. It worked in their favor either way.   
               They catalogued everything in their head as they traveled the Mojave, things that might be important and what they actually thought about other people and themselves.

               Cass: A smart woman. Fierce, steadfast, clinging to something even if she was more than happy to drown herself in her sorrows, she shouldn’t be underestimated for the quick shooter she was and the alcohol did nothing to stop her from being plenty lethal.

               Veronica: Strong and not just in a physical sense. She was obviously hardened by the horrors of the wastes, emotionally strengthened by what she saw in her time in the Brotherhood and resourceful enough to get herself out of more than one rough situation with only her mind and what little she had on hand. Dangerous, don’t fight her.

               Boone: Their favorite potato head as they’d come to calling him, but they weren’t stupid enough to really think that his lack of book smarts kept him from being intelligent. He was the best with a sniper that they’d seen, focus and intensity that was far above any others, what he lacked in any sort of written or medical knowledge he easily made up with knowing how to kill a camp from miles away.

               Raul: He was sharp with his tongue and his bullets were faster than any smartass comment that he made any day. They loved traveling with him because they never knew what they were more likely to see; the old gunslinger ghoul rivaling their kill count in a battle, or if he would sit it out and simply look for a tacticians way out and sabotage the old tech around them so he didn’t have to move.

               Arcade: A smart doctor that obviously was hiding his fair share of dead bodies behind the self-loathing. If he realized his own potential not only as a fantastic doctor and fantastic shot with a plasma pistol, he could always at least fall back on the truth that he had a ripper and was more that equipped to tear down whoever came at him.

               Lily: ~~Grandma~~ Likes to wield a heavy sword, highly deadly as they are very good at blending into their surroundings when need be, also likes to use a minigun if she is unable to fight at close combat range. Be wary of her breakdowns, as she grows stronger and her attacks are much fiercer.

               In a fight, they were more than glad that they had their back and shivered at the thought of meeting them on the other side of the battle field, if not only for sentimental reasons _(that might not even be returned in the first place, remember Dean? do you, Kasta? or did you just want to forget again like everything else?)_ than also because it would certainly be hard to take one or two of them down at one time, let alone all at once.

               Kasta idly wondered how they would stack up to the others. They knew how to handle a spear _(something that they found out in Sierra Madre, how had they known how to use a spear?)_ and had a damn good grip on their pistol _(it definitely had nothing to do with grabbing that hat after killing the powder gangers and trying to carve an identity out as a cowboy, absolutely none),_ and if they didn’t have that? Well, they already knew that they would never beat Boone with a sniper rifle, and Raul could very well shoot their limbs off one by one if he got too close. If he was too far away, then Cass was the next biggest threat, probably too close for Boone to take the shot without someone else getting in the way, and Raul wouldn’t hurt a friend. After that would’ve been Arcade and Veronica, and they didn’t want to have to deal with the business end of a ripper or a power fist.

               What would Kasta have to say about themself if they had to make a little list, a contingency plan if everything went wrong? _(didn’t that already happen? you were shot in the head after all, where were your plans then?)_ Kasta: ~~Murderer, clung onto life when they were willing to leave another life to rot, to suffer. Be wary, they value their life highly and don’t have any boundaries. Just a traveling fool to watch out for.~~  Good with guns ~~, claims to have~~ no memory of anything of their life before getting shot in the head ~~, but their life isn’t worth all that much anyway, so what does it matter?~~ Be cautious as they are highly dangerous ~~but not playing with a full deck.~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, if you made it this far, I'm glad you like it! I'd really appreciate if you left a kudos or comment because those always brighten my day. Thank you for reading.


	5. Escaping Alone (as though they had any right to)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Kasta makes it out of Vulpes' tent and out of the camp, there are certainly some complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all before the game, so the usual rules apply and this is still hard-core mode. None of my stories have a beta, so I'm sorry if there are a lot of errors. I tried to clean it up, but it is how it is, sorry.

               The legionnaires were coming in to check up on Vulpes’ little private whore he had, give her water and whatnot since the profligate couldn’t even be bothered to move anymore. And then the murders began. As he was the first one to come in, he was the first to die, their ropes unbound from their wrists and wrapped around his throat, his eyes bulging and his face turning a violent purple-red as he asphyxiated. Kasta didn’t go for the pen where the other female slaves tended to the children and babies, ignoring the nagging at the back of their head growing steadily louder for them to go back. Go back and find their child. Keep their baby out of the Legions’ hands.

               And for a second that little voice won. Kasta took a step towards the slave pens, hiding behind a tent, time running out, they either had to go for the pens or be caught and be put under heavy surveillance. But then. Blue eyes and a square jaw, pushing them down, ignoring their attempts to get free and even going so far as to say he ‘enjoyed a good struggle’. On their back, hopeless, defenseless, hands shaking, they swallow and remove the foot they had in front of their body and run away.

               The baby! The baby! My baby! The little voice in Kasta’s head was squashed out. They only had one goal now and that was freedom out of this hole. Nothing else. The next man that decided to check up on Kasta noticed an empty spot and a dead body before he died the same way as the other soldier. With that, Kasta took their armor, took their weapons, and fashioned it into something they could use as a disguise to trick the fools into their freedom. There was certainly enough cloth for Kasta to even swaddle a baby, keep it close to them, either on the back or the front and smuggle it out with them. The extra cloth was tossed aside in favor of other supplies that Kasta could possibly carry with them instead. Water, food, stims, anything was good. The sun was just about to fall as Kasta made their way out of the tent, and into the camp. They kept their head low, passed the pens and quickly made their escape. It wasn’t long before someone sounded the alarm. They hadn’t even gotten a mile out before they heard the dogs.

All pretenses of being stealth forgotten, Kasta grabbed the nearest soldier who was running back to camp heart beating fast, trembling all over, sweat pooling into their outfit as they grabbed him and threw him onto the ground. They managed to climb ontop and get the first punch, but it was adrenaline and fear that had gotten them this far. Their muscles had been out of use for so long that the Legionnaire  had no trouble, and pushed them off easily, pinning their hands above their head. He stopped a good amount of their struggling by clocking Kasta right over their head, fingers digging into their cheeks as he slammed their head into the ground, once, twice, and a third time before they let go and turned to call over any other nearby soldiers. Kasta slumped, exhausted, too tired to even cry in terror.

They’d have to go back, back to him, back to being someone’s asset again, not seen as a real person. They couldn’t do it, they wouldn’t! Gasping for air they tried to bite on their tongue, commit suicide by bleeding out under the man. He noticed and shoved two fingers into their mouth, choking Kasta, who began to wheeze and drool for air around his fingers. As the world started going dark they heard something heavy colliding with flesh and bone….

 

               When Kasta finally came to, they weren’t in the camp anymore. They didn’t see anything that they could recognize as the camp, the tent, none of the pens, nothing. It looked like an old world building, with rusted over tools and a yawning darkness that they felt could swallow them if they breathed too loudly or disturbed anything. They sat up to see a man, wearing some regular farmer’s clothes, a wide brimmed hat on his head, and tattoos that marked him as a tribal. Kasta rubbed at their face forlornly, they hadn’t been able to get their real tattoos, so they had to paint their markings on everyday back when they were still with Aysel. They’d worn their tatoos with pride and remembered them with respect, even if the captured members of Aysel had their tattoos scrubbed off their faces, or in the event that it was permanent tattoos, burned off. Slowly scraped off their face to show they were the property of the Legion rather than the tribe that they had loved and held dear. Kasta cursed internally.

Maybe if clan Aysel had known what the Legion did to the people it captured, the tribe heads would’ve given them the god’s permission and understanding to commit suicide without fear of retribution in the next life. His skin was a bit lighter than Kasta’s but still dark brown and his hair was in dreadlocks like Kasta as well, though his were much better kept than theirs. How their mother and father would recoil to see Kasta’s hair in such a state, beads not put in the proper places, falling out and tangled, hair matted and dirty, unkempt and unwashed from their days of captivity. Kasta knew that Aysel might not agree, but at this point a well needed haircut was in order to start over from the damage that it had sustained.

 ‘Where is he from, that he has all of this?’ Kasta mused. ‘Maybe a bit farther north? I haven’t heard of any tribes after the Legion ransacked it though, so I can’t think of any anywhere near Aysel. Maybe not in this state?’ Kasta stopped that train of thought, after all, if this man had saved them, maybe they should be thanking him rather than trying to size him up. Ignoring their trepidation, Kasta stood up, shakily, and then got to their feet. They cleared their throat and greetd him, wincing at how scratchy their voice was after so much time of either only screaming or silence.

“Hello, how are you?” Kasta asked, trying to be polite over the near screeching of their vocal chords. “Are you the one that saved me from the Legionnaire before?”

He turned to them, arms crossed, “Had I known I was going to be killing another Legion soldier, I would’ve taken a bit more time to make the decision, but yes, I did save you from the soldier before.”

Kasta tensed up, the action nearly making them fall over even as the adrenaline kicked in again, making them regain their balance rather than fall, nausea sending them reeling. They got into an open stance, shoulders down, on their toes, “You work with the Legion?”

He shrugged, eyes on them, intent and ready for anything, “I deliver packages, sometimes more than that. I’m a courier and I carry the fate of the bull on my back with my actions.”

Kasta, though they still wanted to run as fast their legs could carry them, furrowed their eyebrows, glaring. “What are you going on about? You carry packages and sometimes they have fun with you on the side? Carry out assassinations? A saboteur? What? Don’t speak so cryptically when there’s no need for it!”

He sighed, “I do carry packages for the bull, and I would prefer to remain loyal to them over any other faction, to answer your question. Any other information I don’t have any inclination to give you.”

So a Legion soldier then. They looked at his arms. They might’ve been adorn with tattoos, but they could’ve just as well been carved over with the Legion brand over those large muscles. Kasta couldn’t tell just from looking at his arms what the muscles were from, but as it was they didn’t want to find out if he was more of a melee fighter or a rifle holder, because either way, at close distance if Kasta tried to fight him, they would most certainly lose. They couldn’t see under his pants, too loose. Could they really take the chance of outrunning him? He knew this place much better than they did and previous position in their tribe as a scout or not, they’d been confined to that tent for months, and worked hard longer before that, their body wasn’t in peak condition and they didn’t know anything about their opponent to know how good their chances were.

But they had to try right? They had to! Their eyes darted around the barn as the man spoke, “You shouldn’t try to run. Your body is in no condition to take you anywhere fast.”

Kasta put their arms up in a defensive pose, “So, what now then? You apologize to the Legion, take me back in as a sorry for killing one of theirs and get off scot free? I don’t think so. You aren’t taking me back there, I’d rather die than go back.”

The man put his hands up to show he wasn’t holding any weapons, but that mask was covering half of his face. Kasta could hardly read any of his tells, there wasn’t a twitch that they’d get out of him that wasn’t under that damn mask.

“I didn’t save you just to kill you. I’m not to take you back into bull hands.” He paused to see that they weren’t putting their arms down, not relaxing. “If I wanted you back to the bull, you’d have already been there, dragged unconscious back to their camp.”

               Kasta eyed him warily, but put their arms down even if they were still ready to sprint at any given second, “Then why help me? Why even bother?” Their nose scrunched up, “And why do you keep calling the Legion the bull?”

He relaxed bit, now that he didn’t have to worry about them attacking him, even if the attacks would be weak, it was never good to underestimate your opponent, especially if they had managed to get out of the camp by themself unseen by legion troops. “I believe that the legion can do something, to bring this war torn country together, even if I don’t agree with their methods. That doesn’t mean I have to turn a blind eye to a person struggling for freedom. As for your other question, the legion is the bull for the flag that it carries marching into the land outside Arizona, conquering territory and uniting the people.”

Kasta snorted derisively, “Yeah, they do a good damn job of it, killing entire other tribes off, wiping off culture and culture at a time to pick off whatever’s left like a bunch of vultures. They’re doing a great job.” They could feel the pounding headache more clearly now, now that they were too exhausted to even fight or flee. Their body was betraying them again, even though they were tense, they were too tired to do anything but sit down. Kasta sat on the ground, keeping an eye on him, though it didn’t matter much. At this point all they could do was glare and try to stay awake in case they had a concussion. “So now what, you’ve kept me from Legion hands, but what did you intend to do?”

He shrugged, “I kept you out of Legion hands, but that’s as much as I’m going to do. What you do with your life is up to you now.”

Kasta fought valiantly to keep their eyes open as a large yawn slipped out, “Look, I’m ready to leave as much as I’m sure you want to be left alone, but I need to rest up. I’ll leave in the morning and we won’t have to see each other again.”

Kasta didn’t really get an answer to the question as they passed out, arms crossed, still sitting up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm glad you enjoyed this enough to get this far! Hey, if you like this story, kudos and comments are always welcome, thanks!


	6. Looking This Good Doesn't Come Easy, Appreciate It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kasta gets ready for their big showdown with Benny as their friends mock them over their ridiculous clothes that they somehow thing passes as functioning armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Kasta when they don't have their memories, normal mode, no hardcore and honestly, I just wanted to make something cracky with the courier and gang. I don't have a beta so all mistakes are on me, I tried to clean it up though. I hope you enjoy!

               They were in the Atomic Wrangler, twisting and tying their hair over and over again, trying to get their dreads into a classy style but look loose enough that it could drive a man wild. They’d been in this room for a solid five hours just primping and preening. Boone had long since left, after the third time they’d turned to him for his opinion on how they looked. Veronica was undoubtedly having the most fun with this, happily putting their hair into a myriad of different hairstyles and digging through their pack for anything suitable to wear. Raul was casually reading a copy of some old mechanic magazine, interjecting his opinion on what they should wear and what probably looked a bit too revealing at certain points, but otherwise ignoring them. Arcade’s loud snores could almost be heard over Cass’s drunken laughter as Veronica snatched Kasta’s desperado cowboy hat off of their head for probably the hundredth time that hour, her face flushed red as she started coughing from laughing so hard.

               Lily had left earlier, saying something about getting a few hair clips from the store. What store in the wasteland that carried exclusively hair products Kasta had never heard of but they’d made Lily promise not to leave Freeside. Lily had been disappointed, her always open mouth pulling down into a frown, speaking in what was probably a mumble to her, “But this side of town doesn’t have the proper care for your hair, dearie. Wherever are you going to get the right hair gel? You can’t just slap random things in your hair, especially not with that hairstyle. Things are going to be so much more expensive…” And then walked out of the Atomic Wrangler still talking to herself.

               “Oh my goodness.”

               Kasta turned to look at Veronica who was still rifling through her back pack. She was holding up a rather revealing outfit that consisted of a strip of cloth that would wrap around the users chest with flimsy black and white straps that didn’t look like it would properly hold itself together, much less anyone’s chest. The bottom half was long enough to barely cover the wearer’s ass and genitals, barely and was finished off with long black boots that started from the knees and had five inch long heels at the bottom.

Kasta could feel the sweat ruining their makeup as it ran down their face. “Look, there’s a perfectly good reason that’s in there.”

Veronica reached into Kasta’s bag and pulled out ten more of the exact same outfit. She arched her brow, a shit eating grin on her face, holding up another one. “You must be really fond of those, K. Wanna share with the class?”

Kasta could feel their eyeliner smearing from the sweat that would surely smudge their blush soon too. They licked their lips, “Ok, so I use it for—and don’t laugh—I use it for it’s DPS stats.”

Veronica burst out laughing, rolling around tears streaming down her face as she shrieked, “WHAT STATS? OH MY GOODNESS! WHAT ARE YOU PROTECTING?! I MEAN IT SURE AS HELL AIN’T YOUR MODESTY, OH MY GOD!”

Cass, who had just looked over from taking her drink, choked and stopped giggling long enough to ask, “Where did you get this? Is there some kind of sex shop in the Mojave we don’t know about?”

Raul just shook his head in response, “I can’t believe that’s actually in your backpack.”

Arcade, woken up by the noise took a look at the outfit in question and just looked over in wide-eyed disbelief. “There’s no way that you actually wear that right? I mean you’re surely not wearing that when fighting giant radscorpions every other step right?”

Kasta had the grace to look at least a little ashamed, “C’mon, the DPS is better than a bunch of other armors. It’s stats are 20!”

“Oh my god, why this. Of all outfits, you chose this one? Just, why?” Arcade sat back on the bed in shock that anyone would actually wear that, even with fear of radiation of burns in the Mojave.

Kasta scrunched up their nose and snatched one of the outfits away from Veronica, “I think this is the perfect outfit. Thank you, Veronica.”

By the time Kasta had finally come down to grab Boone (because everyone else had promised to take along as long as they had a camera and were frantically searching for it in Kasta’s pack so they could record this) they were ready to ditch the others and just get their business with Benny done.

Boone looked up, questioningly, “Where are the others?”

“Oh,” Kasta said breezily, “They decided not to tag along, so we should get going as soon as possible.”

Boone eyed them critically, seeming to not even notice their fancy updo and outfit, “After all that work that Veronica did to get you ready, she said she didn’t want to come?”

“Yep! Exactly that, so we should get a move on.” Boone didn’t move. “Like right now.”

“Hmm, maybe we should wait for the others. See why they don’t want to come.”

“No! No, I mean, uh, they said that it wasn’t necessary. That, you know, they didn’t wanna come along so let’s just get this over with quickly.”

Boone gave them a slow nod, “Right. Sure, whatever.” He could see the way they were about to sweat through all the makeup and planning that had gone into their outfit and he figured he might as well let them get some intel before making sure they really wanted to go through with this. They might’ve called Boone Mr. Potatohead, but there was also a reason why they trusted him to watch their back implicitly.

 

 

So after sweet talking the man at the front desk and keeping their on-hand weapons, which for some reason also applied to Boone as well who was still carrying the sniper rifle Kasta had given him when they’d first met, they walked over to Benny. Hips swaying, their usual smile showing a bit more teeth and a bit wider than it should’ve been, a slight sweat on their forehead that they’d had to gently wipe off more than once in the past five minutes.

“There he is,” Kasta murmured to Boone, “Right over there, in the ugliest suit I’ve ever seen. Isn’t it funny how I remember the last few moments before I got shot? I was on my knees, hands tied, and he looked me in the eyes point blank before popping one right between my eyes.” Their voice began to shake. “Then he put another one right in my temple to make sure I was dead. Lucky me, I didn’t die, right?” Their laughter was hollow and forced, shaky and they had to wipe the sweat off of their forehead again.

“We can just shoot him, you know. Just you and me, get rid of his guards, shoot him in the kneecaps so he can’t run and you can return the favor. You don’t have to sleep with him.”

They looked over at Boone and gave him a soft smile, “Thanks, but, this is the best plan so far. Look, I don’t feel safe just walking up to Benny by myself, so, can you help me out?”

Boone nodded calmly and followed Kasta to the group of heavily armed man and one ugly man who wore a somehow more atrocious looking coat that was black and white and all checkers. Kasta gave him their most seductive and disarming smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading this far! If you liked it, can you leave a comment or a kudos to show me how I'm doing? Thank you for reading!


	7. Holding On to What Little We Have Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcade's first meeting with Boone and Kasta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Kasta, but on hardcore mode and they don't have any memories of their life before getting shot in the head. This was going to be longer but I didn't really like how it was going as I was writing it, so I chopped a lot of it and decided to leave some stuff out so that it could be better explained in a different chapter. I don't have a beta so all mistakes are mine, sorry. I hope you guys like it!

               The first time Arcade met Kasta, they’d limped in with Boone half dragging them even with his own injuries in the middle of the night when the camp was still deserted. They’d calmly and politely asked him, without meeting his eyes, “Hello, sir. Are you a doctor? Because me and my friend could really use some medical treatment.”

               Obviously Arcade didn’t turn them away, he was a doctor after all. But he was quite shocked to even see these two alive, making it through the wastes as they had. He’d sedated Boone first because he was looking twitchy and he didn’t seem like he was going to let Kasta go without a fight. Boone went down quickly after the hit of Med-X that he’d given him, not that he hadn’t told him that as much would happen when he shot it into his system, because he had morals after all and he wasn’t just going to go around sticking people with needles that they didn’t know about. Boone held on until he finally passed out, fingers gripping into Kasta’s shoulder. He was going to treat both but he needed to separate them because they were both resolutely clinging onto each other, and it could get in the way of treating the both of them.

After he had sedated Boone he turned to Kasta, who gave him an ever-polite and increasingly strained smile, looking uncomfortable as they kept their grip tight on Boone’s waist. They looked down rather than right at his eyes, “Is there something that you need me to do, doctor?”

He tried to look them right in the eyes but they just kept looking away, so he gave up on it and replied, “I need you to let go of your friend. I get that you both are looking out for each other, but I need to diagnose the both of you and that’s going to require you to be apart. After that, I’m going to give you the same amount of Med-X he did and see what the issues are.”

They gripped Boone tighter, but let him go albeit reluctantly when Arcade lifted him out of their arms. He put Boone in another bed, not too far that they wouldn’t see each other once they woke up, and motioned for their arm. They sat up on the bed, predicting that they’d probably be in the same boat as Boone and lifted their arm to him, palms up and open, a pip-boy attached to their wrist. He wanted to ask about it, but he could see the heavy bags under their eyes and they were entirely silent, waiting patiently for him to do what he needed to do. He went for their upper arm, but they insistently pushed their wrist at him, tensing up when he tried to remove the bandages around their elbow that ties all the way to their shoulder.

So he pushed the needle into a vein in their wrist and let the drug do the rest of the work, their eyes fluttering as they tried to keep upright as they slumped in on themself. Arcade gently lead them to a lying position on the cot and they were out, quickly and quietly. He wasn’t sure who had the worse condition, so he checked Kasta, who was the closest. They had signs of heavy dehydration; a dry tongue, sluggish heart rate, old and dry sweat around their forehead and the neck, and a high fever. For now the Med-X would have to do the job and when they woke up he’d make sure that they drank plenty of water and took a stimpak to help along the process of fighting off the fever. Leaving a cold compress on their head, he went over to check on Boone.

Boone also showed signs of dehydration, but there wasn’t any fever, making Arcade wonder if his partner’s fever was due to radiation rather than just dehydration or something else that he hadn’t been told about. He put a cold compress on Boone’s head as a precaution, just in case he’d caught the same sickness his friend did and then decided to read some books until one or both of them woke up so he could get more information on what had happened and do more treatment until the next doctor came in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm glad you enjoyed this enough to get this far! Thanks for reading! If you liked it, I'd really appreciate if you guys left a comment or a kudos to let me know how I'm doing.


	8. Hard Reload

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kasta and Boone didn't realize what being on hard-core was, but they learn quickly what it all entails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Kasta who lost their memories and is on hardcore mode. I don't have a beta, so this does have mistakes, but I hope you all still enjoy it!

               Kasta truly didn’t realize what hard-core mode entailed until after they picked up Boone from Novac. It was a hot day out, the sun was bright and they weren’t taking too many rads, tumbleweeds blowing about as they stepped outside of town. All in all, not a bad day to leave for better things ahead.

               That said, their good luck didn’t last very long. Kasta hadn’t been paying attention, just enjoying the sun on their face and the glasses on their face in good condition so they could see farther than five feet into the wasteland. It wasn’t soon after that they had their first encounter with an enemy, not five miles out of Novac. Kasta grinned and took out their machete and started swinging away as Boone started firing as quickly as he could. Kasta didn’t realize it, but Boone sure did. These were cazadors, fierce and quick, if they didn’t impale you they poisoned you with their stingers. So it wasn’t really a surprise that Kasta didn’t really understand why Boone had yelled at them to stay back when they started swinging away until the first sting in their arm.

               Hot, burning, painful, Kasta let out a shriek as their machete loosened in their hand, gripping at their arm in pain, and then the next sting came in the leg, below the knee and another right above it. Kasta barely held in a scream, dropping to the ground, switching their machete to their other hand, and slashing out wildly, any good sense to block the cazadors gone as they just tried not to get stung again. They took out one cazador, then another two dropped, the bullets much closer than it should ever been from their sniper back-up. They managed to get a good wack in as the cazador buried its stinger into their collarbone, hacking at it again and again and againandagainandagain—

               Until it was finally dead. They panted, hearing the bullets stop, the buzzing of wings gone. Boone was standing up only to stumble and sink to his knees, a large hole in his torso and two in his chest, a full stinger buried in his thigh. He looked over at them with a small smile, and said in a small, fond voice, “I knew you’d be the death of me.” Before his eyes rolled back until his skull and fell over dead.

               “Boone!” Kasta yelled tears in their eyes, dragging themself over to his body by their hands. Why was he dead? Why wasn’t he getting back up? They didn’t understand. They grabbed onto his shirt tightly with their deadened arm as hard as they possibly could and looked at their pip-boy with the other. Completely disregarding any stimpaks, any doctors bags, or any anti-venom, they pressed the LOAD button on their last hard save that they had with Boone.

 

A screen shows a billboard with graffiti all over it, with the words in jagged red, as though someone didn’t have the proper skill or maybe just enough time to do it properly, the words “FUCK THE NCR!”

 

               Kasta and Boone were back at Novac, all ready to go on the road again. Boon idly rubbed at his chest after Kasta shoved all of their stimpaks and doctors bags into Boone’s pack, remembering the stings. Apparently, so did Kasta, as they went back just as they passed the dino and shoved in their only anti-venom tonic.

               They went much slower than the last time, Kasta had a finger on their pistol, machete stowed in it’s place at their hip. Boone kept his rifle ready, scratching at his thigh, almost still feeling the stinger buried under his skin from the attack, in quiet surprise that it wasn’t there anymore. Kasta, on their part was twitchy. They had their binoculars in hand every other few minutes, trying to spot the nest of cazadors that attacked them, checking their pip-boy and then rerouting their path to try and avoid what had happened before. So, it truly came as a surprise to both of them when an entirely different nest of cazadors had taken them by surprise. They’d been too bust looking to the east to properly scan the west and see the threat, almost stumbling on it.

               Kasta rushed into the battle again, but keeping a fair amount of distance between them and took down one then two, scrambling for their machete when the third one got too close and stung them right in the chest, their vats too low, missing all of the shots they’d lined up. In Boone’s defense, he’d been shooting as quickly as possible, taking out three on his own before Kasta fell down into ground face first, taking a cazador with them. Boone almost managed to get the last one before it stuck him in the side, dying as Boone smashed it with his rifle but, but leaving it’s stinger behind.

               Boone gave that same small smile and in that same stupidly fond voice and said, “I knew you’d be the death of me.”

               That same fucking message popped up again and Kasta acknowledged it bitterly rather than ignoring it. It read, “You have lost Boone’s Spotter Perk.”

                And then a follow-up, as though mocking them, “Boone has died.”

               They glared at it, the last thing they saw before they bled out in the dirt.

 

               There was a large billboard for Sunset Sasparilla, it showed it’s wear and tear from the trials it’s had to endure over the years of the great war and after. The nearby sign was rusted and the directions it gave were largely ignored as most would quickly notice the words painted on, in the same red that said “DEATH TO THE NCR!”

 

               This time, Kasta didn’t waste any time putting all of their life-saving supplies into Boone’s bag, save for their chems as Boone didn’t want them. They handed him a rifle, it was in subpar condition, a scope taped onto the top, and tried to play it off as making him carry his stuff rather than a bone-rattling worry for his safety. They only had thirty-six bullets for the gun and the stock the gun looked like it had been handmade, wonderglue and more duct tape holding it together. They didn’t quite meet his eyes and their smile was fake and forced, plastered on their face, as they said, “I didn’t need it anyway. And besides you can carry it. Maybe you can put it to better use than I can, huh Boone?”

               He didn’t bother to give anything other than a short grunt, stowing it in his bag. He didn’t want to tell them that their attempt at making a gun was a failed one or that even green recruits made better guns than this, or object to the fact that there weren’t nearly enough bullets in the gun to be useful at all, he just took it.

               Kasta waved him off, saying they were just going to get some supplies from Ada, so he could rest and stock up in the meantime. He grunted again, but followed after them in spite of what they said. They went over and bartered with Ada for a few supplies, their small amount of caps dwindling further. There were less than a handful left in Kasta’s backpack and only five stimpaks to show for it, Ada had always driven a damn hard bargain.

Boone slept in his room for the night, finding no sleep, between his nightmares of killing Carla and his child and cazadors overtaking him and stinging him over and over and over.

               By the time that Boone met up with Kasta the next day, the bags under his eyes were half as large as theirs. But in spite of that, they went out, Kasta popping a few pills every now and then, scanning the horizon for cazadors, their ears straining to hear the rapid beat of wings, hand on the trigger and the other at their machete. They didn’t meet any cazadors, not even as the sun started to make it’s way over the mountains and they both gave a sigh of relief.

               Before they could make camp for the night, they were attacked by coyotes, a small blessing compared to the hell of dying by impalement or poison to them. It was a tougher fight than it should’ve been. Boone had done a damn good at taking them out, one by one, after Kasta put their pistol down and started swinging away. The kill count between the two of them was seven to three, Boone took down the last one, and it’s body slumped over. He looked around, wondering why Kasta hadn’t said something or come over to help make camp like they’d planned. He started to loot the bodies of the coyotes and when he got to the last one he’d shot, he was given a sharp answer as to why Kasta hadn’t said anything.

               The coyote had red teeth, its jowls painted with Kasta’s blood, patches of fur ripped out in the struggle. Kasta was staring up at the moon above, eyes wide and glassy, throat torn out and mixing in with their dreadlocks and the sand below them.

               Boone gathered them into his arms gently, then closed their eyes before pressing the LOAD button to right after they had ventured into the wastes.

 

Three NCR dollars, two were twenty bills and one five on top, accompanied by two gold denarius coins and an ashtray. Next to it was an old brochure to the Hoover Dam, with the most visible words in red beside it’s mascot that read, “SEE YOU SOON”


	9. Sharing a Bed Trope Gone Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boone and Kasta are petty and they have to share a bed. Sometimes, it's hard to tell which one of them has only three intelligence points and who has six.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kinda cracky, I'll admit and it was too long to put in my drabble series so I put this here. This is Kasta without their memories on normal mode and goddamn do they and the other companions take advantage of that.

               They were setting up camp for the night, the sun had long since fallen and Kasta and Boone had managed to find a run down old gas station to sleep in for the night. For the first time in the week that they’d been traveling together, they were finally able to go to sleep without needing to sleep in shifts and Kasta could feel their muscles cry out in joy at the thought of being able to sleep in a mattress. Granted, the mattress was dirty, probably had bugs living in it that they’d have to clean out order to actually be able to sleep in it all, which would take an hour minimum, and the bed wasn’t meant to fit more than one person. But to Kasta, they were in paradise, and it wasn’t like they were really going to mind sharing a bed with Boone anyway, after all they’d been on the road with him for a solid week already, and being on the road wasn’t the cleanest affair. They could still feel the old seat under their arms, chafing away at the rest of their skin and they didn’t even want to think about how dirty their dreads had probably gotten under their hair. They silently mourned the loss of fresh water at Novac and Goodsprings that allowed them to scrub their skin, provided, they gathered the water themself. But on the road? They were filthy. So, they didn't really have any qualms about sleeping with Boone in the same bed.

               They went about cleaning up the bed, not really paying any mind to what Boone was doing, beating it out, and aiming a few well-placed laser shots at it to generally get rid of the population of bugs that had to have been living in the mattress. Then they set up some mines. Mines all over the room, at the windows, at cracks and holes in the walls, at the door and on the ground anywhere else that some burglar might try to put their grubby little hands into.

               Kasta couldn’t hear any of Boone’s usual background noise that he made before he went to sleep, no more clanking as he took apart his gun, or bullets being carefully lined up in rows and neat little columns, counting each damn one, and no more crinkle of paper. They didn’t need to know everything that he did once he was doing his little set up just as he didn’t bother to know what they did for their setup. (They’d later find out this was entirely untrue and he knew exactly what they did for their night time set up as well, just didn’t want to disturb their usual habit of surrounding the entire area with mines or interrupt their prayers as they did their hair out of respect. Though they would wonder for the next few months why he would always interrupt them when they started to reorganize their entire bag.)

               They gave him a few more minutes to wrap up whatever he was doing and get into his pajamas or whatever he wore at night when it was safe to sleep and yelled out, “Hey Boone, the beds pretty small but we can both fit into it. You fine with that?”

               He gave a casual grunt of affirmation, or what Kasta assumed was casual since he hardly spoke words, just choosing to get the conversation over with as quickly as possible with monosyllable answers or flat out grunts and huffs rather than a full sentence. They shrugged and got into their shorts and overly long and somewhat dirty shirt and climbed into bed on the far side, closing the scraps of curtains on the window next to the bed and then carefully kicked the mine a bit farther under the bed and a bit closer to the one near the window so that neither of them would lose a leg getting out of bed. They looked up so they could grab something in their bag for their pip-boy (cheating and making the weight limit over one million made it hard to look for anything in their fucking bag and they regretted it wholeheartedly) only to get an eyeful of Boone dick.

               They yelped, and jumped back on the bed, covering their eyes. “For fuck’s sake Boone, put on some underwear or something!”

               He glared at them, “This is what I wear to bed.”

               They motioned at his nude form wildly, “You wear your birthday suit?!”

               Not a huff, not a grunt, but a stalwart, “Yes.”

               “Why?” They exclaimed, putting their hand over their eyes so they didn’t have to see anymore.

               “It’s too hot to be wearing clothes.” Then Boone, nonchalantly said, “You can go on the floor if you’re that uncomfortable with it.”

               Kasta couldn’t remember their past, and therefore didn’t really know how they acted in the past, but suddenly a violent urge to just shove their fist into Boone’s face arose. They also knew that with only a four to their strength stats they would quickly lose that fight so they settled with giving him a nasty glare, ignoring the blush that he couldn’t see on their dark brown skin. “Fine then, Boone, you exhibitionist. Sleep in the nude. Hopefully the bugs I got rid of don’t come back and bite your dick off.”

               He scoffed and got in bed, as Kasta turned to their side and resolutely stared at the wall, wishing they had grabbed the tool from their bag earlier to make a low-light night light so it wasn’t so dark. Kasta quivered in their spot in bed, staring out of the corner of the window and the darkness and imagining all the things that might try to attack them through the window. If only mines wouldn’t kill them if they were too close, Kasta would’ve littered them all over the bed as well as the ground. Besides, they were gonna stay awake until Boone went to sleep, a stupidly petty way to get revenge, sure, but they were sharing the same two covers and old pillow with him in the nude. They were allowed to be irritated and take it out on him without violence anyway.

               Boone on the other side was trying to ignore the thought at the back of his head, growing steadily louder that bugs would bite off his genitals. He wanted to say with complete proof that there was no way a bug could bite off his dick, but this was also the wasteland and it wasn’t exactly an unfounded fear as something new and horrific was showing up in the Mojave every week, so it wasn’t something he could really rule out. And besides, he could tell Kasta was trying to get revenge on him because they usually went to sleep within seconds of laying down, small snoring, and clinging to Boone in his sleep. Since they were obviously awake and not snoring, he figured he’d just outlast them until  they went to sleep first.

 

               Three hours. It had to have been at least three hours that had passed. Kasta could feel the effects on their body. They’d been traveling for three days, with little sleep, non-stop and he _still_ wasn’t asleep somehow, that motherfucker. How’d they know he wasn’t asleep? Because despite the deep breathing and lack of overall movement, Boone wasn’t half strangling them and keeping them close, there wasn’t any drooling or punches to the stomach, and Boone’s finger wasn’t constantly twitching as though he was shooting something in the head. And besides, his lack of sleep-talking or _“thumbs down, Caesar”_ in their fucking ear with his terrible breath in their face wasn’t going on. Boone might’ve been trying to fool them with deep heavy breathing and shit, but he was hardly moving _that motherfucker was costing them precious sleep just fucking roll over and die or go to sleep for fuck’s sake, asshole._

               Boone on the other hand, also knew that they weren’t asleep, he could literally feel them tensed up, which while not unusual before they rolled over and tried to cuddle him, not the other way around, he thought to himself pointedly, no matter what they fucking claim. They weren’t having their usual nightmares or anything, their rigid back wasn’t unusual but he’ll be damned if he was gonna let them win this. After all, they’d cave before he did. They were a much heavy sleeper and they were low on energy, Boone had gone much longer stretches of time in the NCR with his unit and he’d be damned if he let them win at their petty shit.

               Silence, then Kasta let out a soft sneeze and small yawn. Kasta inwardly cursed as Boone grinned to himself. _The end was fucking near._

 

               It took only twenty more minutes for Kasta to eventually pass out from exhaustion, and that training Boone had gotten from the NCR kicked in. It took him a full two hours before he finally relaxed enough to succumb to sleep.

                

 

               Kasta peeked at Boone who had bags under his eyes almost as large as Kasta’s usual ones and snickered to themself. They might’ve lost the battle, but they won the war, dammit. They won! Boone could see them doing their little victory dance in the background and honestly, he was pissed off. That little shit got more sleep than him and thought they won? No, they weren’t fucking getting away with this. After doing a quick check to make sure they were on normal mode and had at least seven stimpaks and four doctors bags (which wasn’t really a problem as Kasta had a bad habit of just adding in lots of medical equipment for their storage, at 1000 doctor’s bags and 100000 stimpaks. He should probably talk to them about being careful about overdosing on stimpaks sometime) in their bag, and once Kasta had gotten done with their daily morning prayer slash hair maintenance, and started to pack up all of their mines, he shoved them onto one.

               Kasta scowled at the little box that popped up telling them that they had a crippled right arm, and got up only to trip on the next mine, setting off a chain reaction that Boone didn’t escape from. Kasta ended up ‘dying’ and Boone went unconscious.

              

               A loading screen popped up and scrolled by as it reloaded the last save after they woke up, but no one was bothering to look at it.

 

 

               Kasta and Boone stayed in bed, wondering exactly how they were going to maneuver around the room without setting off another chain explosion again.


	10. Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being stripped of the place that you loved is a slow and arduous process, and always a painful one. Pre-game Kasta.

Most of them had tattoos. There would’ve been more survivors with tattoos but they’d killed off all the tribals from Aysel who had passed as a male. Kasta had been unlucky that day and had only been dressed for war, not their normal binder, and had been kept alive to see the next day, denying them the death that they had been promised. The orders had come from the chief heads’ themselves; die in battle or die soon after. They were not allowed to spread any knowledge of the tribe or their where abouts, or their level of technology, and the only feasible option to keep it all safe was to die. Thirty-seven of them had been captured, and Kasta didn’t for a second think that the men who died weren’t interrogated. They wondered if the twenty-four men who died welcomed their end.

The rest of them, only thirteen strong remained, had been categorized as women, though only five of them considered themselves to use such a label. The first night passed and eight more died, the right way. Tongues in their mouths bitten in half, bleeding out quietly or having taken the small pills that they’d hidden in their breast bands. Two women and three others who didn’t identify as such remained that night, and Kasta could only wonder why. Why hadn’t they taken the chance to kill themselves? In that same train of thought, gingerly moving their tongue around, deep cuts on the inside of their cheeks and on their tongue, why couldn’t they find it in themself to stop being a coward and end their own life?

After that night, the men of the Legion who captured them took away their breast bands, and tied a rope in their mouths to keep them from biting their tongues. Kasta had gotten lucky that night, at the expense of their other tribe member, quietly praying to the gods for forgiveness that it wasn’t them screaming the next night as five men crowded around one member and did as they pleased to them. The same that doused them kept them awake all night, quietly praying and singing low under their breath for their friends’ safety in the morning, a cold sweat running down their back in the low light from the torches the legion men had brought with them. 

The gods let Kasta know that their prayers were in vain the very next morning when their friend was left beside the road, covered in bodily fluids that weren’t their own, cuts, lashes, and bruises. Kasta wondered if their friend had died from the abuse at the hands of the men or if the beating had caused them to bleed out internally. Now there were only four left of tribe Aysel, four too many if the tribal chiefs had anything to say about it. 

After a solid week, the remaining four members of Aysel still had their tattoos, heads bowed as they were tied up in ropes and lead along like cattle as they were joined by more slaves in another camp that they stopped by. They kept their heads down in shame but their was still some pride in the fact that they still represented tribe Aysel, that there was still something left of their past to hold onto. It wasn’t unnoticed. After twelve long days on the road, with barely any food or water for the slaves one of the men decided that they needed to teach the other tribals a lesson. He took the last of them, all but one too old to have gotten permanent tattoos and even the one with permanent tattoos could’ve been washed off at this point as only a few dots under his eyes and lips would have given any trouble to fade away. The man took a knife and began to scrape away at their tattoos, displeased when they all came off easily. Kasta was the second to have their tattoos scraped off, the knife cutting into their skin, tears at their eyes they didn’t let fall as the blood began to drip down their face. The girl with tattoos that were permanent under her eyes and lips went right after Kasta, terrified and still. The man got to the dots under her eyes and began to cut deeper, causing her to cry out in pain and fear. 

Her cries suddenly jolted Kasta into action, as they got up and slammed into the man, making him drop his knife and curse loudly. They dove to the ground to get the knife before he could but they took too long, the rope on their hands and the lack of water keeping them from moving as fast as they should’ve. Kasta’s hands were only a few feet away when his foot collided into their chest, hard enough to draw blood from their mouth. They curled up, the knife out of reach as their body recoiled, fingers still outstretched--

Another blow to their chest, then their legs, a foot stomping on their hand and a hard kick to their head kept them down.

Kasta could hardly breathe, the air coming into their lungs in short gasps, eyes squeezed shut, the bones that had been kicked surely broken. How--how were they supposed to go on like this? They didn’t even know how much farther they had to go, how were they supposed to keep up with broken ribs and twisted fingers? Their legs burned in pain but not nearly as bad, maybe, just maybe, they might be able to walk the next eight miles or so. But after that, what then? What was to come of them?

Kasta saw an image of themself being dragged along like the others who had fallen behind, exhausted, dying from insane thirst and the sand slowly scraping the skin off their bodies as they were dragged along behind the lines.

They were left like that for the rest of the night, trying to set their bones in at least working positions while they were dragged behind their tribe members to the sleeping area for the slaves. Kasta could feel the blood on their face dry along with the blood that had come from their mouth, and after setting their fingers to the best of their abilities, ran their nails over the tattoo tracks in defiance. They may have taken their tribal markers and stripped them of any defining characteristic that would’ve proven them to be part of the tribe, from their belongings to their life to their tattoos, but the will of Aysel would live on, even if it wasn’t what had been ordered. Kasta would make it through this, they dug their fingernails deeper into their skin, they would make it through this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to admit I thought this chapter was a bit more dry up until the end, but I also didn't know how to go with it in such a context. I mean hell, the reason I like writing no memories normal mode Kasta is because they hide literally everything with snark, and pre-Kasta doesn't really do that. They just live as they could and then "die" in the no memories version and change drastically between normal and survival mode. Even with survival and normal mode theres at least some room for humor as theres some hope of recovery, but at this point in time? No way. So, I felt iffy about releasing this chapter and it set everything back a couple of weeks, but I'm going to be updating it with at least three new chapters today, so there's that.


	11. Killing House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House isn't nearly as invincible as he liked to believe and killing him was just cutting out a piece of the old world that had outlived its usefulness. Survival Kasta, no memories.

For all of their doubts, killing House had been easy. He didn’t expect it, as they had been following his orders, doing as he said. Honestly, they hadn’t entirely expected to do it either, they had been all for taking New Vegas in House’s name if not on the fact that House was already in charge and had kept relative peace in New Vegas already. Why fix something that isn’t broken, right? But here’s the thing, between House’s bad talk of the all the tribes that rubbed them wrong and the entirety of Freeside’s population living in absolute filth and squalor when he could actually do something about it and simply chose not to, or the fact that he seemed more preoccupied with snow globes and music sheets than the lives of the people who lived on the strip, Kasta just couldn’t do it anymore. 

Arcade had been particularly vocal ‘bout House’s faults as a leader, Cass had, when she finally get her hands off the whisky after going on that week-long trip without a drop of alcohol in sight, pointed out some pretty damning evidence that House didn’t care for anything other than his little pristine view of New Vegas from the highest point of the 38, and Joshua’s advice to look into some of House’s dirty laundry, Kasta just couldn’t support him anymore. No amount of forced polite smiles, uncomfortable conversations where they pretended to think that House was half as smart as he thought he was, or quiet threats were able to throw Kasta off of the thought or make them pause in their actions. In the end, their plasma weapons and shotgun was more than any match for the securitrons, even with the upgrades. After all, they’d done some extensive research on one before via disassembling it and putting it through the works as they tried to get as much tech and information out of it as possible and the ones working were no different than the one that they’d taken apart. 

Getting to House was shocking, almost made them stop and turn back entirely. They were looking at a fossil of a man, barely alive in his containment chamber and clinging desperately to life. This was House. No longer a smartly dressed man on a screen who looked like he was the most important man in the world, but a decrepit old husk of a human feeding off of New Vegas and reducing it to an old skeleton like him, the people and the place just as falsely bright and lively as fool’s gold. 

The disdain they had before vanished and they put the fool out of, what they considered, to be his misery, ignoring his raving and fury with a disturbing ease. And with the bang of a shotgun to House’s forehead, wiping it clean off of his shoulder’s, 38 and the position of power became the courier’s problem.


	12. Flashes of Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks and disassociation all wrapped up in one nasty little package. Thanks brain, as if I didn't already have enough to deal with.  
> Survival Kasta with their memories. Warning for animal abuse, because they were fighting dogs to the death and that counts as abuse and murder. So, heads up.

Their throat closes up, the heat of the battle, Arcade throwing some of his usual snark their way, a loud laugh from Veronica as she responds in turn and Kasta lets their machete feast on the blood of the feral ghoul who thought it’d been a good idea to charge at them. The next one knocks them off guard, the sound of their friends fading away, the machete and the rancid blood coated on it knocked out of their hands, coated with fresh blood. The feral claws at them, mouth unnaturally wide, eyes white and fogged over and Kasta feels satisfaction as their fist meets the feral’s ruined cheekbone, relishing in the sick thud and crack as the bones in the jaw give way under knuckles.

It hits the ground, staggered, and Kasta takes this opportunity to go for the ghoul on the left, as the one on the right falls, bullets embedded in the torso and another next to it spinning wildly to the ground as a flash of green tore apart its knees. The ghoul in front of Kasta was all theirs until Veronica came around to help, but they weren’t planning on getting an assistance to take it down. They launch a fist into the feral’s stomach, but fists don’t seem to affect an undead zombie just focused on eating flesh. It manages to drive it’s teeth into their right arm and they take that pain as confirmation that they’re still here, that they’re  _ living _ . They rip it’s teeth out of their arm, enjoying the way the fingers scramble for a hold in their flesh and throw it to the ground, gripping it at it’s torn nostrils. It doesn’t even manage to get up before their boot stomps down hard on it’s skull, rotted brain matter and sticky brain fluid dripping down the heel of their shoe, and this is, this is, this is, t h i s  i s--

_ One dog down, the Legion could feast on the remains of it for all they cared, after all, if they were going to act as savages, they might as well feast as savages as well. Powerful jaws tear into their calf and they forget about all the strays that they picked up and nurtured as a child, and take a sick joy in kicking the dog in the throat, taking their injured leg and swinging it into the head of another dog that had taken a leap at them. They turn to the dog with blood on it’s chops and grip it’s skull, twist its neck, the tongue jerking out of it’s mouth. Two more dogs to go, and they take joy in knowing that these two dogs were left of the fifteen that had been unleashed on them. It was either them or the dogs, and to be frank, they wondered if the dogs and the people who trained them by extension were really even trying.  _

_ They tackle one dog, laughing maniacally as the other chomps down hard onto their shoulder. It would be killed in due time, but the mutt in their arms would die first. It was a brown dog with deep blue eyes, much like the one that they’d adopted at six, whimpering pathetically, knowing it’s end was near and begging for mercy or aid. Kasta doesn’t give aid to this dog, but a severe neck snap and the dog suddenly doesn’t see the danger of the human with it’s arms around it’s neck. Kasta stands up, and rolls forward, throwing off the dog and grinning at the loud yelp. A swift kick to the dog’s legs and a few boot stomps on it’s skull with their bare feet , painting them a dark red as it dies.  _

_ Kasta laughs, arms up in the air as the Legionaires shout and scream like the men out of hell they are. They make sure to look as many as they can in the eyes with their middle fingers up, yelling right back at them without any words. How many dogs had been unleashed on them? What round was it? It didn’t matter. They weren’t going to take suicide to escape this hell, and if they couldn’t get out by bleeding to death from their tongue, the Legion would need to work much harder to take their life than just throwing dogs at them. The first time in their life, they see someone else wearing a coyote mask and sunglasses, the devil in a human skin-- _

Overwhelmed, head spinning and the dirt rushing to take them back into it’s core, Kasta falls, their companions voices only an echo as what little they had eaten before thunders its way out of their body from the mouth, eyes wet and brain fuzzy. Kasta only sees the sky and blonde hair come into focus before things start happening again without being able to really come into contact with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to do this chapter and another chapter that touches on Kasta's suicidal behavior while with the Legion, so this was much easier to write and I really enjoyed putting it into words.


	13. Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When women give birth to baby girls in the Legion, there's a reason, they don't see many after the first few months. And Kasta learns this the hard way.  
> Pre-game Kasta. Warnings for child murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter I have at the moment, and it was the hardest one to do too. This was the other chapter that kept me from updating for so long because of how I needed to write this? I feel like I did a good job with it, and I'm proud of it, but damn.  
> Also, I'm gonna level with y'all this is dark as shit and yeah there are going to be chapters that are light-hearted but I really need you guys to comment so I know if I'm doing it right or if I should start showcasing other moments in this series because it feels like I don't know if you guys are enjoying it or not. Some feedback would be more than appreciated especially after all of this.

Kasta was having a hard time breathing, their legs collapsing in and then to the cot, chest heaving exhaustedly, their stomach distended a bit (in their opinion) grotesquely. The midwife didn’t look them in the eye, choosing to wrap up the baby in a spare blanket, and hand the child off to the father. Kasta couldn’t tell what was worse, the fact that they’d been forced into the situation in the first place, or that the person who put them in this position in the first place was by their bedside the entire time, holding their hand, and trying to play the comforting spouse as though he had any sort of romantic implications towards them in the first place.

Gone was the coyote head and sunglasses that usually covered his head, Vulpes looked almost like a human being with his sharp blue eyes and decidedly unremarkable features. He made this almost look like they were a real family and this wasn’t just Vulpes deciding to have fun and inflict pain and suffering on them by playing house and saying he would marry them, pretending like they were star-crossed lovers and not a bitter slave bound to a monster as their ‘master’ for the sole purpose who found out that he enjoyed inflicting suffering on interpersonal levels as well as a wide scale. 

The baby went into Vulpes’ arms and despite the fact that they hadn’t wanted a child in the first place and had tried so hard to keep this from happening, they felt a wave of protectiveness wash over them, wanted to snatch their baby from his arms and shield them from the contagious viciousness and inhumanity seemed to be blessed with in spades.

They fought to sit up, despite the midwife’s protests, gritting their teeth at the waves of pain that threatened to drown them in unconsciousness and tried to take their baby into their arms, but Vulpes’ wasn’t having it, he didn’t even bother to wave away their insistent hands, just continued to hold the baby. 

They heard him softly chuckle, “Zeus must be testing me to curse me with a girl rather than a boy.”

Kasta felt their blood run cold, recalling what the Legion did to the little girl babies that were born; fed to the dogs, left out in the desert to their deaths, their necks either snapped and the bodies thrown away, or simply drowned and discarded, no graves to mark the life passing from their small bodies. They didn’t know if the Legion ever had shown mercy to a baby girl but they’d only seen one of two babies in the camps in their time here. They’d never seen any of those children reach infancy.

They reached for their daughter again, and this time, Vulpes gave up the child without a word, not looking at either of them. Kasta quietly held the baby to their chest, not looking at how gently their child was sleeping but rather trying to look for any positive outcome for her. 

The midwife left, then Vulpes, leaving Kasta alone with their child, barely cleaned and wrapped in the old blanket that she’d been swaddled in. Kasta shifted the baby to one side, as carefully as they could, shoulders locked up, brow furrowed. They cut the umbilical chord first, the tense energy in their shoulders only tightening up as they cleaned the baby with what little water was left from the birthing process. Then, Kasta wrapped up their baby in a small shawl, one of Kasta’s most comfortable clothing, and tried not to let the exhaustion catch up with them. They made a small nest of blankets for the baby to sleep in and lay down beside her, curling up around the baby as if to keep them away from harm, back exposed and legs splayed out carelessly as they joined their daughter in sleep.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

When the day finally came,they didn’t know what to do. Vulpes had walked in on them breastfeeding their daughter, a small smile on their face and the adoration in their eyes dying out as he approached. He waited until the process was finished and held out his hands, ready to hold her in his arms. Kasta held their daughter closer, terrified what he’d do to her, but all he said was, “I’m only going to burp her, nothing more.”

Why Kasta expected a liar to keep his word they’d never understand, not even looking back on it. And they’d never be quite able to understand that this was one of the times that they were able to see Vulpes being entirely honest. He held the baby on his shoulder, gently patting her back and letting her belch and barf up a bit on his clothes without protest. Maybe Kasta was imagining it, but they could almost see the fondness and affection in his eyes when he held her. He held her in front of him gently, tapping her on the nose and allowing her to laugh and giggle letting her touch his face and wave her arms without punishment before handing the baby back to Kasta, who was more than overjoyed to have their child back in their arms. 

He ran his fingers through his daughter’s brown curls, a small smile as she looked up at him curiously with hazel eyes, a small blush forming on chubby brown cheeks. She really had been blessed not to take after her father, she looked human and innocent, something that Kasta had originally not thought possible for a spawn of Vulpes. But here was their child, taking after their mother’s dark skin and curly hair, with an easy smile and boundless curiosity, rather than taking after her demon of a father. The only thing she mildly possessed that looked like him was the eyes, and even then it still struck people to think of the mother than the father.

Vulpes slowly turned from their child, face hardening and going blank, filling Kasta with dread, “She’s three months old now. And I cannot put it off any longer. She’s to be taken to the desert and left to be picked off by the wildlife.”

Kasta looked at him in horror, their stomach bottoming out as they clutched their child into their chest, not hearing her whine out in discomfort. “Vulpes, please. She’s--she’s your daughter as well as mine--you, you wouldn’t possibly want this for her--right? She’s just a baby!”

Vulpes didn’t respond to this, didn’t even hit them for presuming to know anything like he usually did. His voice and face were about as approachable as a bloodied brick wall, “Say your final goodbyes. Tonight, she is being taken out beyond the walls and left to die, as with all Legion daughters. You haven’t offered her up as a slave, and have not promised her to anyone in the Legion, therefore, she will die.”

Kasta could hear something shatter, wither, and die off in the distance. After the world was no longer broken up into a thousand pieces and they saw their little girl as a whole again did they realize it was their heart. Vulpes left the room nearly silent, as usual but this felt wrong. On so many levels.  They couldn’t focus and they wished that the world would stop breaking and shifting into so many pieces, they wished they didn’t feel the tug on their mind to flee somewhere else and forget the situation because damned if they were going to let their daughter have a painful death torn to pieces by the environment without at least trying to do  _ something _ to stop it from happening. 

The bucket in the tent was still filled with water when Kasta had bathed her earlier and they numbly walked over to it, cradling her baby in her arms, wondering what name they should give her. They didn’t bother to take the clothes off of their daughter as she submerged the baby, instead thinking on how they’d never get to see her daughter grow up. They could feel their baby struggle in the water, bubbles hitting the air, head trying to reach the surface, but still, Kasta kept their hand on their daughter’s chest. 

They’d never get to hear her say her first words, they thought, tears adding to the water in the bucket as the struggling finally slowed and came to a stop. Kasta didn’t want to check to see if their daughter’s eyes were open, the sobs tearing at their throat as they gently brushed their hand over their daughter’s face. They held the corpse of their child in their arms, close to their chest, the sobs steadily growing louder. 

Goodbye, Makbule.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm glad you liked it enough that you got all the way to the end! I'd really appreciate it if you commented or liked the story, thanks.


End file.
